


Silver Clouds With Green Linings

by NinjaSalad



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: (Good Parents), (Like. The F-word that ends in ‘uck’), (Whomst??? A L L), ADHD, ADHD Character, Adorable Name Calling, Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Autistic Character, Barbara and Adam Maitland Are Ghost Parents, Beej calls the Reader a lot of bug-related nicknames lol, Beetlejuice And Lydia Are Chaos Twins, Beetlejuice And Lydia Are Siblings, Bisexuality, Breakfast, Canon Bisexual Character, Charles Deetz Is An Awkward Dad, Crying, Cuddling, Delia Deetz Is A Good Stepmother, Delia and Charles Deetz Are Good Parents, Don’t post to another site, Established Relationship, Except for Lydia she’s a Goth Lesbian, Fluff, Found Family, He’s softer and gayer and i adore his portrayal—, Hugging, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t think it comes up in the fic but It Is (My) Canon, Lesbian, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Lydia Deetz, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pancakes, Pet Names, Snuggling, Suicidal Ideation, Will Blum Beetlejuice, beetleb@bes dni, breakdown - Freeform, cursing, emotional breakdown, everyone is bi, gender neutral reader, ghostly powers, no y/n, not to say i don’t love Alex’s as well but…SOMFT BEEJ ; v ;, pls let me know if i should add any more tags!!, retrospection, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSalad/pseuds/NinjaSalad
Summary: Reader is up late, having a night of bad-brain, but with a simple text sent in the throes of angst to their deadborn dearest, they come to learn that it’s okay to reach out if they aren’t feeling very well—mentally and/or physically—and they realize that the Maitland-Deetz household is even more warmer and welcoming than they could haveeverthought a house truly could be.Now complete!
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland & Reader, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Late Night Struggles Turn Into Late Night Snuggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i am gay and honestly not been having too good of a time Mentally, recently. this fic is a reflection of that! (• ω •)7✨
> 
> it’s all very Soft and Gay and Yes I’m Projecting And It’s Fun DO THE RESEARCH!! 💖
> 
> if themes of suicidal ideation are triggering to you, maybe avoid this fic? i’ll put a warning above the chapters it shows up in, but. yeah! woo! mental health is a Fuck :3

It hurt.

What hurt?

Your head.

Your chest.

Your _heart._

Your _**soul.**_

Your mind, swirling with emotions you can hardly parse, leaving you stranded in a sea of _pain_ and _misery._

Maybe some people might say that you should just _”calm down,”_ that you’re being _”overdramatic,”_ but you _know_ you aren’t. What you’re feeling is _pure and raw,_ and it _fucking **hurts.**_

Lying in bed, you’re curled up; a soft, squishy toy clutched to your aching chest to relieve some of the all-encompassing _hurt_ you’ve ended up experiencing at the end of a long, **long,** day.

The crying has helped some, but not a lot, and has unfortunately turned into a dehydration headache behind your tired eyes.

You look at your phone to check the time—having slammed into bed directly following a nutritiously sob-filled dinner—and wipe the tears from your vision to read the clock:

3AM.

Your mind flings off into a tangent from that simple little number, reminding you of a being that loves to be the cause of posthumous mischief. Zir sharp toothed grin never ceases to bring a smile to your face, but even _thinking_ of messaging zem to come over makes your ribcage ache anew.

The reason for your returning sobs being that you have always felt…like you were being a burden, or something akin to it, if you were to discuss how you were truly feeling. _Or,_ not being able to mention how much you were feeling _at all._ Because you just…don’t have the words to describe any of it.

Beej says that Lydia and zie have a bi-weekly heart-to-heart, since Lydia’s therapist says it’s a good idea to air things out _before_ they can transform into something bigger than one can hold inside of oneself.

You’ve gotten a little bit better at expressing your personal feelings under the two’s influence, like when you have dinner at the Maitland-Deetz’s, and there’s a food you dislike as an option, which you manage to mention before Charles and Adam start serving everyone, gaining a pair of happy smiles from the two men, a joyous clap from Delia, a supportive wink each from Barbara and Lydia, and a gentle squeeze of your hand under the table from Beej. It always makes you need to look away and give a bit of an overwhelmed flap of your free hand, but soon enough everyone’s attention and the conversation have moved on to Delia talking about hers and Barbara’s newest art piece they’ve been painting being almost finished.

Which brings you back to where you’ve pulled up the last text you’ve received, a simple _”Nighty night!! don't let the bedbugs bite! {that's *my* job >:} 💚🖤💖”_ from the ghost with the most at the semi-appropriate time of 11PM.

Beej had entered zir name in your phone as two emoji: a ladybug and a juice box. Zie thinks it’s funny, and you think it’s cute. The first time you said that, though, Beej’s hair turned bright pink and stayed that way for a couple of minutes while zie tried to think of a fitting rebuttal. While Beej had sputtered and smoked, you simply leant over to place a kiss on the deadborn’s green-tinged cheek, which caused zem to let out several dial-up modem sounds, flop over, and fall through the open window, landing zem—thankfully— _beside_ Delia and Charles’ flower patch and in the thick bushes with a muffled _thump._

You had run to the sill, peering out in concern, but Beej had simply climbed out of the greenery, dusted zemself off, and raised a thumbs-up at you; the lovestruck grin splitting zir face making you laugh until you cried.

And then you had _actually cried_ because you felt bad for accidentally knocking the demon out the window and hurting zem, but zie had taken that moment to float up through the floor with a box of tissues and a pun about how _zie_ were the one supposed to be saying _“Boo-hoo”_ on zir lips. Beej had managed to distract you from the incident with enough jokes and tomfoolery that even lying in bed that same night, you weren’t kept up late thinking of how you “messed up”, which turns out to have been _exactly_ the demon’s plans.

Thoughts now back in the present, you continue staring at your text conversation, decide _Fuck it,_ and compose one to ask for their allaying presence. It starts off as _”everything hurts and i need you”_ but after a bit of backspacing, it quickly changes to _“i had a rough day, can u come over?”_ until, after _quite_ a bit of intense brainstorming, it reaches its final form of _”i need cuddles 🥺”_ and you just hit send before you can think about it. Then you check the clock on your phone again and groan because it's now smack-dab _four_ in the morning.

Beej has never once complained about being kept up from your sporadic late-night text-a-thons when it turns out you _can’t_ sleep—in fact, zie probably _loves_ it when you message zem—and you’ve woken up on more than one occasion hours after a meme-based sleepless bender to your unusually plugged-in phone smushed against your face, wearing a blanket you don’t remember owning covering the parts of you not splayed out across your bed. The first time it happened, you texted the ghostly being asking if zie had anything to do with it, simply receiving an answer of _“Plausible deniability,”_ from zir end, and have since then decided not to question the caring gesture again.

An erratic rendition of _Shave And A Haircut_ on the window near your bed makes you jerk, pulling your attention to the ghost wearing a dark green pullover hoodie excitedly waving through it; zir usual peppy grin in place.

You huff a laugh of fond amusement, knowing the ghost could phase through the window no problem, but adorably chooses to wait for you to open it yourself. You unlock and slide it wide, scooting back to let Beej swoop through the bug-screen into a bunch of little pieces, before zie quickly comes back together at the seams, ending with jazz hands.

Your snort of laughter is cut short when Beej _launches_ zemself at you, pinning you atop the mattress in a four-armed hug, getting comfortable while you giggle at zir otherworldly antics. You sigh in relief, settling easily in zir hold, and close your irritated eyes; something unwinding inside your rattled being leaving you finally feeling at peace for the first time in _days._

“So, pillbug, wanna tell me why you’re awake at this Ungodly-slash-Unsatanly hour, or do you wanna wait until the sun rises to hash out the deets? Uh, details, I mean,” Beej murmurs as quietly as a startled bird taking flight—which is to say, loudly enough to wake you from your slow drift into blessed unconsciousness, yet decidedly in a kind enough manner you don’t feel pressed to go with the former option. Zir arm wrapped twice around your abdomen squeezes soothingly, while another one laces fingers with one of your hands.

You shove your face into the plush toy your head ended up on after being gently accosted by your specter-ly s.o. “Later, please. I just wanna sleep,” you mumble mostly-coherently, “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Beej’s chuckles reverberate through you, making you hum with delight at the pleasant sensation. “Even _if_ I was off in dreamland, waking up for a snuggling session is always a hundred—no, a _quazillion times better_ than watching everyone I know and love turn into fish people and duke it out over the championship title of ‘Universe’s Best Cheeseburger Baker’ and a box of wasabi triscuits,” zie explains happily, warmth coloring zir tone. Beej’s third and fourth hands begin firmly massaging your shoulders, eking out the last of the tension from your exhausted frame.

You let out a quiet, involuntary moan which draws a chortle from your ghostly significant other. “I think the word’s ‘quadrillion’?” Your mind feels disconnected from your mouth, yet you still somehow manage to gently correct zem.

You can hear Beej shrug behind you. “Ehh, semantics. Go the fuck to sleep, you sillyhead,” zie press a kiss to your crown, snuggling closer still, and throws a leg over your own to keep you warm, what with the blankets being trapped under both your bodies, even if Beej’s own is only partly-corporeal.

“I’m not the one with moodring hair that performs showtunes at six in the morning every Thursday…” You breathe in, your perception dimming like a light on your exhale, but catch the last thing Beej says, right before your mind goes completely under the calming curtain of night.

“ _Ooh,_ when we wake up, I’m gonna kick Adam’s shapely haunted _ass…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # we are craving love in this McChili’s tonight
> 
> oh and the next chapters will be _much_ longer than this one jfhgkfdhg thanmk u for reading!!!


	2. Breakfast At Maitland-Deetz’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is _much_ longer yeeeeee enjoy!!!

Light streams through the open window, smacking you square in the face and waking you up at the asscrack of dawn. Grumbling, you turn over and stuff your seared eyeballs up against the softness of Beej, hugging zem tightly and sighing in contentment.

At some point in the last two-to-three hours, zir second pair of arms have disappeared, which makes you a bit sad. The deep pressure was wonderful and comforting, which made the total amount of those feelings—in general— _double,_ since Beej _zirself_ exhuded both in the first place.

Speaking of, your demonic pillow decides that now is the _perfect_ time to begin floating in zir sleep, which never _doesn’t_ scare the crap out of you.

You attach to zem and zir hoodie like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree, letting out a quiet _”Fuck!”_ as the two of you rise a few feet above the bed.

Beej snorts in zir sleep, readjusts zir _loose_ hold on you, and attaches the both of you to the _ceiling._

It was leagues better than waking up on the wall and almost falling to your death, but _still:_ It is _not_ a fun place to be when the person doing it _isn’t conscious._

With your legs wrapping firmly around Beej’s waist on the way up, you arms are free to do what you wish with them. So, you bring your hands to either side of their face, squishing zir cheeks together, and try your best to quickly wake zem.

The upside to having a sleep-floating deadborn as a partner is that, as long as you’re holding onto zem, you don’t have to worry about gravity’s affects. The _downside_ is that your ghostly partner is hard to wake up when zie are accidentally _ignoring_ the gravitational pull of Earth.

“Beej. Beej. Beej. _Beej. Beej. Beej._ _**Beej. Beej. Bee—**_ Your mouth suddenly has a single, pale finger gently pressed against it to cease your repetitive calls of its owner’s nickname.

The green haired being blinks and stretches, a yawn of monster-like proportions being let out of a maw with fourty-too-many sharp, pointed teeth. “When is it…?” Beej grumbles, sounding rightfully-cranky from being woken up for the second time in 24 hours.

You giggle a tad hysterically, still clutching your s.o.’s face for dear life. “I’d say around five or six, but I wouldn’t know for sure, seeing as we’re _stuck to the ceiling,_ ” you emphasize by gesturing below, quickly returning your hand to Beej’s cheek in fear of falling.

Beej rubs the back of zir neck with a apologetic grimace. “Whoops, sorry, pigeon. Been a while since this’s happened around you, eh?” Zie chuckles, slowly floating back down onto the bed, making sure to support your head and spine as you both gracefully flop atop the now-chilled sheets and blankets.

No longer scared of falling to your doom, you give a languid stretch of your own, humming happily now that you’re once again on solid ground. Shimmying up to rest your noggin on your pillows, you try going back to sleep, but it seems Beej has _other_ plans. Plans that _don’t_ involve getting a good night’s rest.

The ghost with the most climbs out of bed, leaving you to reach out for zir demonic warmth with searching arms and whining tone, gaining a laugh from zem.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something _more_ fun than sleeping in store for us, jitterbug!” Beej calls out to you while digging through your clothes, putting together an outfit that suits the weather, while taking into account your body’s usual temperature. Zie teleports the couple feet back to your bedside, drops the clothing on top of your face, and goes over to your closet once again, this time to trade zir hoodie out for one of your own.

You peek out of the pile at Beej, making sure zie isn't taking anything that has overly-sentimental value, but thankfully even demon ghosts from the Netherworld have _some_ morals, and this particular one you’re dating takes a plain blue zip-up hoodie, throwing said hood up once it’s zipped to perfection. 

Beej turns to you with a shit-eating grin in place, arms held out to the side, making little _”Ehh? Ehhhhh?”_ noises to encourage commentary. You blow air out your nose in amusement, sitting up to examine their new outfit for real.

“You look _very_ nice. Blue’s a great color on you; really brings out the natural pallor of your face, and highlights the brightness of your hair.” Your comments bring a green flush to the deadborn’s cheeks, streaks of pink lining zir tresses poking out of the hood.

“Yu-yuh really think so?” Beej twiddles with the hoodie’s strings, looking down at the floor, then glancing back at you in an adorably shy manner you rarely see from zem.

You smile softly to assuage zir bashfulness. “Of course, Beej! And if you ever need a reminder of just how darn _cute_ you can be…“ You fish out your phone from the depths of your bedsheets, a mischievous grin glinting as you lift it up and snap a couple pics of a beautifully blushing Beej basking in the early morning sunrise.

“Aww, quit butterin’ me up; I ain’t a piece of toast!” The demon-ghost-deadborn complains halfheartedly, folding zir arms and pretending to pout. It draws a giggle from you, making zem smile in success at making _you_ smile. “So now that we’ve sucks-yes’d at making a shitty night a _great_ one, how’sabout you get ready and dressed and all that human shit, then we head over to the cool Haunted House On The Hill for a totes chill breakfast?” Beej proposes nonchalantly, leaning on thin air and pulling down a pair of suddenly-existing sunglasses to peer over the top of; raising and lowering their eyebrows over and over as if that will help zir cause.

Rolling your eyes at your deadmate’s enthusiasm, you gather the pile of clothes bequeathed upon your face, and saunter to your place’s bathroom to do exactly what Beej recommended. “Alright, alright, I’m _going,_ ” you suddenly stop in the doorway, one arm up and blocking the ghost from following you out of your bedroom, making them tilt their head in confusion. “But just for that _shit_ you pulled this morning, I’m not letting you watch _me_ take one.” Thusly, you take your leave to the washroom.

Beej’s shocked cry echoes down the short hallway, pulling a maniacal laugh from yourself; sequestered with the tile flooring and porcelain throne to prepare for the day ahead. _”Hey! That’s_ totes _unfair, bro!”_

You listen to zir moaning and groaning while brushing your teeth, trying not to choke on toothpaste when you accidentally brush _too far_ back. You rinse it all out, then get started on changing into the comfy combo Beej picked out _alllll_ by zirself.

Huh, it kinda looks like the outfit you wore when Lydia invited you over for garbage food and a _The Addams Family_ live-action movies double-feature…You suppose Beej was impressed by it and decided it was a great choice, _or,_ zie simply wants to prank the Maitland-Deetz household by making them think you only own _one_ outfit.

Eh, either works for you.

Donning the cozy clothing—making sure it all lays right, with no twists, nor choking collar—you exit the bathroom, running right into your significant other’s chest. The silence surrounding the both of you makes you wonder _when exactly_ Beej’s complaints stopped while you were indisposed.

Beej grins unapologetically, holding up your bag, wallet, keys, phone, and outerwear with a separate hand each. “Got your shit, babe! Ready to go?!” Zie bounces up and down, eyes gleaming with excitement and just a _smidgen_ of chaotic energy.

You’re quickly getting more used to being on the receiving end of such unrestrained, wild attention, so instead of flinching back from the unexpected encounter, you reach up and audibly _”Boop,”_ the now-blushing demon on the tip of zir nose. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be at—“ you check the time on your phone, which is still held in Beej’s paranormal grip, “—Six in the morning on a Saturday, I guess.”

Beej shakes the pink streaks from their mane of hair, coughing _entirely_ too conspicuously. “God-slash-Satan you’re adorable,” zie mumbles over zir breath, pausing for a hot second. “Wait, shit, didn’t mean to say that out loud.” Beej has a staring contest with a stain on the wall near the moulding that looks like Rocky Balboa hugging an elderly Bugs Bunny. Eventually zie shrugs, deeming the compliment inconsequential to their Bad-Demon demeanor, and stuff all your objects in their rightful places. “Whatevs, let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

One hug and a scentless puff of smoke later, the two of you are standing right outside the “Haunted House On The Hill,” so dubbed by the kids of the surrounding neighborhood and the superstitious parents who’ve heard wailing and moaning most nights after all the lights have gone out. What those people _don’t_ know is that most—if not _all_ —of those sounds are produced by the living people of the house in response to Adam’s _hilarious_ dad jokes.

A fun fact, if you will. 

Unfortunately, any time you’ve mentioned these ghostly little “fun facts” in person to anyone outside the haunted-household, you’ve gotten odd looks and been side-eyed by the elderly, so you now mostly keep your semi-otherworldly trivia to yourself. Simply enough: If normies can't handle the truth, then they don't deserve to know it.

The front door of the house creeks open ominously, letting two etherial shapes spill out onto the front porch steps with nary a sound left behind. Barbara and Adam Maitland wave animatedly at both of you, beckoning you over.

You turn to Beej with a question poised directly on the tip of your tongue; the words flying free without prior thought to how they might sound. “Did you text the Maitlands with my phone somehow?” You ask, one eyebrow scrunched, the other raised in high in confusion. Beej laughs uproariously, guiding you into the homey house with a hand on your back.

“Nah, firefly! I’ve got my own _unique_ and _spoopy_ ways of contacting these two sexy beasts!” Beej leers comically at the married couple, causing Barbara and Adam to roll their ghostly eyes at the demon’s habitual salacious come-ons.

“Zie teleported above the sofa and interrupted our game of CandyLand to inform us zie was going to bring you over for the day,” Adam explains, quietly shutting the door behind you. You bring a hand over to futz with the sleeves of your top layer at his succinct explanation.

“Sorry if me suddenly coming over is a bother…” The Maitlands offer reassuring smiles in return at your own sheepish one.

“Oh, stop it, you! You’re _never_ a bother!” Barbara gives you her customary greeting-hug, afterwards holding you at arms length to give you a once-over with a sharp eye. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat! Adam and I were just about to start on some breakfast to wake everyone up for a great day filled with fun!” She wiggles happily, firmly grasping your hand to tug you past the bouncy accent-couch—which no one has the heart to get rid of, even though it smells like sweat and _looks_ like sweat—and into the kitchen proper.

Beej floats along beside you, doing the backstroke and squirting water out of zir mouth. “I hope y’all’re making something better than those cardboard _monstrosities_ we had yesterday,” zie makes hacking noises, holding zir throat for emphasis.

Adam grimaces, shaking his head in dolefulness. “We found out that day that we are _not_ whole-wheat waffle people,” he shudders at the memory, rubbing his arms as if to ward off a chill. You pat him on the shoulder, nodding sagely at his inadvertent advice.

Barbara gently seats you at the table—which is angled _just so_ to catch the perfect ratio of sunshine-to-shade from the window above the sink—and dons a pitch black apron with the words _”If You Can’t Stand The Heat, Please Stay ~~The Fuck~~ Out Of The Kitchen”_ in fiery orange lettering. Adam joins her at the stove with his own that says _”I Love My Wife More Than I Love The Number 3.14159 (Which Is A Whole Lot)”_ in bright pink cursive.

Those two are so _frickin’_ **cute.**

Adam turns to you, opening his mouth to say something, but it’s lost under the clamor of Beej being thrown out of Lydia’s room and roughly tumbling down the stairs, coming to a stop upside-down on the carpet. You’ve been warned in the past to never try and wake the gothy teen before any pots of coffee have been made, and seeing her bfffff being tossed about like a ragdoll cements that knowledge in your brain as **law.**

“Well, it was worth a shot,” zie shrugs, pulling a throwing-knife out of zir side, dropping it on the floor, and kicking it under the table. There’s some green ecto-goo stuck to it, but you disregard the disturbing liquid sticking to the hardwood in favor of watching the Maitlands float all their cooking supplies around the kitchen with practiced ease; your eyes open wide in wonderment.

You notice Beej sit down atop the table in your periphery, zir gaze feeling soft and warm instead of anxiety-inducing, like how most people watching you makes you feel.

Adam tries to shoo zem off, but after the deadborn playfully snaps zir teeth at him for the third time, he gives up, moving to mope next to his wife. Receiving a sympathetic kiss from Barbara brightens the ghost right back up, activating Beej’s _Pretend-To-Be-Grossed-Out-By-Any-PDA-Not-Aimed-Towards-Zirself_ protocols wherein zie sticks out zir tongue and fakes gagging noises.

You ignore zem for the time being in favor of checking your email and social media; just _knowing_ you’ll be distracted from your phone for the entirety of your visit, as evidenced by past ones.

It’s during this pleasant and relaxing lull in space that the three breathing humans what live here trudge into the dinning room-slash-kitchen combo, the elder two taking seats at the table, while the youngest one pours herself a cup of pure black coffee, managing to seat the unruly demon with a threat everyone in the house _knows_ she’ll follow through on.

“Beetlejesus, sit your _ass down_ in your chair or _so help me_ I’ll pour my second mug down your _pants._ ”

Sufficiently cowed by a literal child, Beej plops into zir seat with a whoopee-cushion _phhhbt._ Zie pulls the strings of the hood to close it around zir face and crosses zir arms, silently louring underneath zir multitude of layers.

Your chair is right next to your demon’s own, giving you the advantage of being seated alongside zem and the lovely ghostly hosts, the latter of whom always manage to fill any awkward silences with their own stories and facts about plants, and how to build model houses; the former being loud and crass enough to distract any unwanted observations towards yourself, be it from your inate intricacies or the not- _too_ -often loss of your attention-span in the middle of a sentence. You appreciate them all _so much._

Having finished messing around on your phone, you playfully prod Beej until breakfast is served, whereupon zie throws zir borrowed hood down, lays a big smackaroo on you, then serves zemself _and_ yourself while you sit there stunned, lost in a daze of unexpected endorphins.

“So, what had you so down last-night-slash-this-morning that you texted me at four anti-meridian for an emerg’ cuddling session?” Beej innocently asks while chomping down on three pancakes at once, causing everyone at the table to consciously _not_ stare directly at you while beginning to eat the first meal of the day. The blasé way in which you’re asked somehow mitigates the anxiety you feel at having been asked such a loaded question in the first place. Being surrounded by people who care about you makes it feel a bit easier.

Well, maybe only a _tiny_ bit easier.

No, wait, scratch that; it doesn’t make it easier.

_At all._

In fact, it makes it pretty much **impossible.**

You finish chewing and swallowing your first bite of food, not wanting to leave the query unanswered for too long. “Oh, it was just a bunch of stuff all piling up at once, but I’m good now.”

Barbara and Adam surreptitiously give you a concerned once over, silently communicating with Lydia and Beej on what to do while you focus on keeping the right amount of fixings-to-pancake ratio as you _actually eat_ your breakfast, as opposed to the entire rest of the table, who seem quite keen indeed with trying to figure out how to make you confide in them without sending you over the edge, which apparently has happened a _lot_ in the past with the Mailtland-Deetz’s, though not as much nowadays.

“So,” you begin, polishing off your first pancake of the morn, “What’ve y’all been up to recently? Besides having finished up that _gorgeous_ work of art over there,” you indicate the wonderfully framed canvas hung up on the far wall; the light hitting it _just right_ to highlight the greens and purples and blacks and blues and oranges and reds and yellows and pinks.

Delia titters at your compliment, while Barbara gives her customary _”Oh stop it, you!”_ in the playfully deep voice she likes to use to gain joyful smiles from others. 

Adam raises a hand excitedly, literally bouncing up and down in his seat. “Oh! Oh! Pick me!”

Beej rolls zir eyes at the other ghost’s hyper-enthusiasm. “You have the floor, buckaroo,” zie speaks through a spoonful of dry, non-name-brand, fruit-flavored cereal.

Adam sits up in his chair, nodding in thanks to the other ghost. “Over this past week, I built _a ship in a bottle._ Well, it’s specifically a galleon. _And_ it’s sails are made of _real flax!_ ” The excited nerd flutters his hands about while describing his project in great detail, the entire table enraptured by the intricacies of bottled-ship making.

“So you used tweezers for an extra challenge, instead of phasing through the glass?” You ask at the end of his explanation around a bite of fruit, curious and inquisitive. 

Adam pauses, putting a hand to his chin, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Huh, I didn’t even think about that. It definitely would’ve been easier than losing three pairs of the darned things _inside_ the bottle.” He stares at the tabletop, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt mindlessly.

“Well hey, at least now the crew of the ship have some precious treasures to bury, _eyyy?_ ” You tease, making Adam laugh heartily, which dissuades any regret you might have had from asking your question and possibly upsetting the brunet.

Charles dabs at his mouth with a cloth napkin, setting it down upon the table with the regal grace of kings long since buried, and lets out a burp of epic proportions; garnering the attention of everyone in the dining room, while making Beej squeal with jubilation at the now-married man’s somewhat disturbing table manners.

Charles looks to his children with a raised eyebrow, _daring_ them to say something, but both Lydia and Beej simply look away while whistling innocently. He glances over you with a charming smile, before addressing the room at large. “What is everyone thinking of doing this fine day? Nothing _too_ illegal, one would hope.” He winks at you for good measure, showing that he’s _joking,_ for once in the short time you've known him.

Lydia leans in over her plate to dissuade Beej from stealing her bacon, taking her own turn in the conversation. “I was planning on snapping some photos around town in restricted areas with Beebleboose, but now that _you’re_ here, it’s the perfect excuse to laze around and watch compilation videos of technical malfunctions during concerts and theatrical productions,” she says while staring _directly_ at you with laser-focused intent.

You blink in surprise at her highly specific answer, chuckling slightly awkwardly and shifting uncomfortably while under her intense scrutiny. “That sounds like fun! Do we need to make a snack run?”

“Nope!” Beej grins connivingly, “I’ve got _allllll_ the fixin’s we need _right here!_ ” Zie reaches into zir borrowed hoodie’s pockets, removing slimy, goo-dripping bags of family-sized chips and various shareable candies.

You pull a face and cringe backwards, _still_ not used to your ghoulfriend’s penchant for creating and secreting ectoplasm in jest. “Maybe we can, uh, wipe those down so we don’t make a mess…?”

“Aww, party pooper,” Beej mumbles under zir breath, stuffing the mysteriously clean bags back into pockets that _definitely_ wouldn’t fit that much food.

“Ooh, Adam and I _love_ behind-the-scenes stuff! Can we join in?” Barbara’s eyes sparkle with exhileration as she bounces in her seat, Adam looking just as excited as she is.

Lydia’s and Beej’s _“Yeah, sure, sounds good to me.”_ and _“Hell yeah! This’ll be a barrel full of ghosties!!”_ easily overlap, after-which the newlydeads look to you for your own answer.

“Of course! The more the merrier!” The table’s excited energy is infectious, gearing you up for a day filled with friends and hilarious videos.

“Now that _that’s_ settled," Charles adjusts his tie out of the way, tucking it into his button-down, "Lawrence, Lydia, why don’t you two help me clear off the table and do the dishes, while our tech-savvy friend here sets up the laptop and TV for optimal video viewing?” He picks up your empty plate and stacks it atop his own, smiling at you in thanks when you hand him your used cutlery, but not accepting any of your offered help past that.

“Ooh, yes! This reminds me of that one time, when I wanted to change the background image on my desktop, this kind and caring individual helped me ‘de-bug’ it, in no time flat!” Delia stands up, coming around the table to pat your shoulders, lifts you _out of_ your chair, and leads you towards the staircase. “Lydia, dear, where exactly is your laptop?”

“But, but, it was just that the _mouse_ wasn’t plugged in…” You protest weakly, still getting used to the ex-life coach’s extravagant praises, oftentimes attributed to the fact that she just _likes_ to make people feel good about themselves, which you _really_ can’t fault her for.

“It’s in the attic, which is where we’re gonna hang out!” Lydia calls over her shoulder, dumping the rest of the coffee pot into her dark-purple thermos while Beej dons kitchen-gloves to lather the dirty dishes in bright green suds—which zie licks when zie thinks no one is looking, but you _always_ notice. Barbara decides to take out the trash, while Adam begins reorganizing the cutlery drawer, his tongue poking out with acute focus.

You can see the gothy teen pick up a drying rag and hug her father before you are lightly shoved up the rickety-feeling staircase and into the space the Maitlands have all to themselves—when not being visited by Lydia and or Beej, of course.

Delia slides past you, reverently picking up Lydia’s computer, and places it into your own hands. “Here you are, dear! I trust you know what to do next!” When her phone suddenly _ding_ s, she checks the notification and gasps audibly. “ _Gasp!_ I must go into work today; Cath called in sick and North can’t cover his shift!” Delia runs out the attic door and down the steps with a hastily shouted _”Goodbye, have a fun-tastic day!”_ in your direction, leaving you alone for a few blessed minutes.

“…She _literally said_ ‘Gasp’ out loud.” You remark to the cozy loft, a soft look upon your face. “ _God-slash-Satan_ I love this family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love Beetlejuice The Musical _so fucking much y’all_
> 
> please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this!! a favorite line, or an emoji, or a "kudos" would make my entire week 🥰


	3. Antics In The Attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ PLEASE: tw for suicidal ideation and talk of suicidal thoughts in this chapter!!
> 
> i’ll leave a summary of the chapter at the bottom just in case! stay safe y’all 💖

“I always feel bad for them, cause, like: Shit’s going wrong and they have to _scramble_ to fix it, though it’s usually from wiring or something electronic going bad from being, well, old and-or worn out, and it’s not like the people putting on the shows can just, intrinsically _know that_ or anything, so I guess that kinda takes away most of the ‘Feeling Bad About Laughing At It,’ since the crew themselves probably laughed it off afterwards? Or put it in a handbook that’s called ‘What Not To Do During Opening Night And Beyond’,” you excitedly chatter while stuffing your face with snackfoods, waiting for the next video to load. The couch and bed are _sooo_ comfy, it _more_ than makes up for the shitty WiFi connection in the attic.

Beej nods in acknowledgment, leaning over you to steal some popcorn from Lydia’s bowl, but she easily bats the demon’s hand away, _and_ zir _other_ hand that went around her back to try from the other side, making zem whimper despondently at the teenager like a rebuked raccoon.

You can’t help but let out a couple of bubbly snorts at the two’s sibling shenanigans, quickly sobering up when they both look to you with matching devious grins.

“Somethin’ funny, firefly?” Beej sidles closer—even though zie was already sitting close enough to touch you by hardly moving an inch—wrapping an arm around you and pulling you flush against zem.

Your face feels like it’s on fire for the nth time that day, and with Lydia sitting literally _inches_ away you don’t want any flailing to happen and accidentally end up hurting her, so you go with the cold, hard truth.

“You two are such adorable siblings; it’s honestly so _cute_ to see y’all interact! Even if it seems like one of you isn’t gonna share or whatnot, y’all always do something to make up for it later.” Your serene smile must make a gear or spring fall out of place in the two Deetz’s heads, as they both sputter and try to refute your words, but the pair of siblings are too flustered at your kind words to do anything else, much less speak coherently.

Lydia gathers her marbles back together first, poking you in the side as retaliation. “Why’re you so _sappy_ today? Did Beejee here turn you into a maple tree before bringing you over?” She giggles, regally handing her popcorn to the ebullient demon, who shouts a triumphant _”Whoop!”_ of elation while digging into the salty snack.

Glancing over at the Maitlands—the married duo currently cheering on the WiFi repeater in the corner of the attic and giving it encouragement to do its best—you think for a moment: Why _are_ you feeling so emotional today? Is it because you didn’t get enough sleep? Not enough hydration? _Hormones?_

You laugh and shrug with an _”I don’t know”_ sound, offering your own bowl of candy out to the sweet and caring teenager, your grin growing brighter when she takes a handful and stuffs it in her steadily-growing maw.

She’s sprouted up at _least_ a few inches since your initial meeting; now on par height-wise with her older sibling. You wonder if she’ll overtake zem with just how _quickly_ she’s shooting upwards. Soon enough you’re gonna need a stepladder to see her face.

“Heheh, beansprout,” you mumble to yourself around a mouthful of chips, having opened a bag during your jumping thoughts. Lydia raises an eyebrow at your utterance, but doesn’t say anything, thankfully.

The next video has _finally_ decided that now is a good enough time as any to finish loading, leaving you to frantically wave the ghost couple back over before one of the impatient people sitting on either side of you slap the spacebar prior to everyone being seated and ready.

Barbara bodily throws herself onto the queen bed from halfway across the room, while Adam softly flops down next to her; the newlydeads canoodling cutesily, much to the playful dismay of Lydia and Beej, the two gagging and gurgling in pretending to die from the sight of such lovey-dovey goo-goo eyes. You, yourself, merely sigh peacefully, content to bask in the _adoration_ radiating off of the pair of sweethearts.

“Ugh, Barb, Dadam, you two are gonna give me _a million_ cavities from how sweet this whole,” Lydia gestures vaguely, indicating the married couple in general, “Being cute _thing_ you’ve got going on is.”

“ _Well,_ excuuuuse _me_ for having landed this hot piece of a nerdy carpenter and wanting to show off how _much_ I _love_ him!” The blonde emphasizes her words by squeezing the brunet held within her arms, an impish glister in her eyes.

“And pardon _me_ for…er, kissing my wife and—wait, you think I’m nerdy _too?_ ” Adam double-takes, gaining a peck from his novio on the tip of his nose. 

“Of course, honey! You’re _my_ nerd, and I’ll kick anyone’s ass if they say it in any way that’s not obviously a compliment towards your impressive intellect!” Barbara punctuates her words by kicking her leg into the air, a fierce and exulted _”Hoo-ha!”_ leaving her as well.

“I _loooove_ your nerdy-ass brain too, A-Dog!” Beej yells, continuing with _”And your little nerdy **ass…** ”_ quietly enough for only you to hear, making you slap a hand over to mouth to hold in any peals of laughter, your shoulders jumping from the effort of containing them. Beej pins you with a feral grin; zir pantomiming grabbing a butt making you smack zir thigh repeatedly with your palm while you muffle your gasps for air.

Lydia shushes everyone loudly, whapping the play button on the next ‘Theatre Gone Wrong’ video in her private playlist she’s been saving for a figurative rainy day.

Midway through the compilation starts your shocked commentary, your reactions amplified by how _high quality_ the snippets are. You feel like you’re _right there_ in the pit with the audience members.

“Holy _carp!_ That swinging light missed her head by frickin’ _inches!_ ” You gasp, clutching your signif around zir middle, whereupon zie pats your head in a calming manner, albeit a bit clumsily.

Lydia rolls her eyes with a smirk, gently shoving your shoulder with her own. “I’m not a _baby;_ you can curse around me. Hell, Green Bean over here once said ‘fuck’ over dinner, which _almost_ gave dad a heart attack.”

You gasp once more, this time in mock-horror, placing your hands on the sides of your face. “ _No!_ Not the _fuck-word?!_ ”

This, apparently, was just _too much_ for the entire room to take, as each and every Maitland-Deetz guffaws and cackles with raucous laughter, banging fists on furniture and snorting up a storm.

A surge of pride and happiness warms your chest, causing your hands to flap wildly for a moment to release the overflowing emotions that cannot be contained. Beej and Lydia lean on you cozily, grinning ear to ear from just how darn _comfortable_ you look.

During another clip, an actor slips off a prop and disappears through the trapdoor. Though she pops her head out of it and continues singing as it rises back up, it sort of looks like she just straight up perished.

“God I wish that were me,” you jokingly mutter soto voce, stuffing more junkfood down your gullet while ignoring Beej’s sideways glance at you.

“Uh, _what?_ ” Zie whispers, zir tone taking on a somewhat stressed quality. When the screen brightens up for the next scene, you can see thin streaks of red and purple crawling up zir emerald tufts.

“What _what??_ ” You whisper back, completely baffled, wondering why your deadmate is suddenly angry _and_ sad at you. Lydia—bless her heart—is too focused on the vignette to notice your’s and Beej’s quiet quarrel.

“Do you _usually_ joke about dying like a depressed millennial when you think no one’s listening, or is this part of something bigger?” Notes of worry coat zir words; more mauve climbing through zir mane as zie looks you over in badly-concealed distress.

Your mind screeches to a halt, takes a moment to boot back up, then finally comes to the realization of what you _actually just said._ “Ye-yeah, I guess saw a few too many of those memes last week, they must be affecting me more than I thought,” you reply, setting down your bowl of snacks; the rock suddenly sinking in your stomach sitting like a fishing weight on your guts.

Beej’s heavy, silent sigh stabs you like a knife. “Please don’t fib about this kind of thing, jitterbug. With this, and how you were acting last night, I’m _really_ worried about you.”

You huff quietly, trying and failing to keep the tightness crushing your chest at bay. “Okay, so I have suicidal-ideational thoughts sometimes, but who _doesn’t?_ ” You clench your fists a couple of times before firmly gripping your arms to gain control over yourself.

“ _Most_ people don’t _have_ suicidal thoughts, firefly,” Beej thankfully stage-whispers, and you _know_ zie’s just worried for you, but you’ve reached your limit; all the feelings and emotions bubbling away in the background have come to the forefront, alongside the most _intense_ of the bunch: The crushing notion that you’ve possibly disappointed someone.

Suddenly feeling cornered, you lash out in anger, bringing attention to your previously near-silent row.

_”Shut up!”_

Beej freezes, zir brow folding in a combination of sadness and concern _for **you.**_ Your ribcage feels like it’s been packed with gravel and lead. 

“Babe, I—” Zie reaches for your hand, but you can’t handle zir soft touch right now, and pull back out of range.

“No! You wanted me to _talk?_ Well this is me, _talking!_ Or _yelling!_ ”

You jump up from the brown couch, pacing back and forth, feeling caged and wanting to claw _something._ You settle for scratching the sleeves of the warm-wear Beej picked out for you that fateful morning; the though of zir kindness spiraling you into an ocean of regret at what you’re doing right now, but you _Can’t._ _**Stop.**_

“It just feels like I can _never_ do enough because of my own fuckin’ brain! Sometimes I just sit, and _think,_ and marinate in my own thoughts of how I’m just a waste of space and a financial strain on my loved ones, but also how fuckin’ _devastated_ they’d be if I were gone!” You inhale too quickly, coughing on your saliva for a couple seconds, tears welling in your eyes. “And I _do_ tell myself the truth: about how much I _do_ for everyone, and that helps a bit, but it just…never feels like what I do is _ever_ going to be _enough._ ” A painful sob rips through your chest, making you curl up into a small ball to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams. “It just feels like _I’m_ never enough…”

Two pairs of warm arms wrap around you, taking it upon themselves to hold you together, though one pair feeling smaller than the other gives you pause; your breathing hitching momentarily in confusion at your observation. The being whomst the larger pair belongs to begins murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

Or maybe they were already doing that and you weren’t paying attention?

You aren’t sure.

Your head aches.

Your chest aches.

Your _heart_ aches.

Your _**soul**_ aches.

You just want to lie down, and slip into nothingness, just for a little while.

Just until everything stops being _so much._

A swooping chill glides through you,

Familiar yet unfamiliar,

Guiding you down, down, into the dark depths of

o b l i

v i

o n . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary:
> 
> while watching videos on The Internet, Reader quietly makes a depressed-millennial joke, Beej gets upset and concerned for them, then Reader has a breakdown and gets hugs from Beej and Lydia but is confused and tired and loses consciousness because of outside forces ~~Barbara and Adam did it, but on accident,,,~~
> 
> see y’all in the conclusion!! 🌟🐞🧃🌟


	4. Little Talks & Emotional Upheavals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re here, the end of the line, gay as fuck and super emotional…hope y’all enjoy!!

You crack open your swollen eyes, taking note of the interestingly striped ceiling first, and the fact that you’re _not_ at home second. You try and move, only to realize that you’re surrounded on all sides. 

It’s all very comfortable, though; two ghosts lying somewhat on your legs who shouldn’t weigh _anything_ and _yet;_ a goth teenager clutching one of your arms to her chest, tear tracks evident on her face; and an awake significant other who’s color-changing hair is the _deepest purple_ you’ve ever seen. It’s _so_ dark, you could hardly tell it wasn’t just a natural hair color.

_Hoo boy,_ that breakdown sure was _something._ You hope everyone is alright after you basically _yelled_ at them all for like five minu—

“Are you okay?” 

_…What?_

“…Hwa?” Your throat, apparently wrecked from all the crying you’ve done recently, doesn’t form the noises you were hoping it would. You hold back a couple of coughs that silently rattle your chest, mindful of the sleeping people surrounding you. 

Beej, apparently still _highly concerned_ for your wellbeing, uses a demonic trick to calm your seizing lungs. You sign your thanks with your hand not occupied by a stronger-than-she-looks-for-her-age teen’s grip, and wince at the pain in your throat when you automatically swallow the minuscule amount of saliva left in your mouth.

And start coughing again.

But this time, you can’t hold it back, and accidentally _wake up everyone holding onto you._

Fan- _friggin’_ -tastic.

The two ghosts who formerly owned the house burst into a flurry of movement and sound, which your addled mind can _juuust_ **barely** keep up with.

Adam starts off, asking after your wellbeing, with Barbara following so closely behind, it’s as if the two are but _one_ person who can talk _four-times_ as fast as any _regular_ dead-person ever could. If there's even such a thing as a 'regular dead-person.'

“Ohmygosh, are you alright? We’re _so sorry—_ ”

“—We really _didn’t mean to,_ but we kinda, sorta—“

“—Knocked you out, but like in a dreamless, deep-sleep kind of way—”

“—And you looked so _peaceful,_ but also kind of sad? So we all just—“

“—Thought it would be best to let you rest as long as you needed to, instead of—“

“—Suddenly waking you up by pouring cold chili down your shirt—“

“—Which wasn’t even an option in the _first place,_ mind you—“

“—But not a single one of us wanted to leave you alone here, so Lawrence made zir bed bigger for all of us to share it and keep an eye on you!” Barbara finishes the flood of information with an over-enthusiastic pair of jazz hands, reminding you of Beej having done the _same thing_ many hours ago, which, in present time, launches you into hysterical laughter for a good little while; tears of mirth pour down your cheeks as you try and catch your breath.

Lydia takes this moment to unhook herself from your arm, reach up with her hands, grab both your cheeks, and pinch them _juuust_ hard enough for you to feel without it actually hurting. You wonder if she’s practiced her technique on her sibling, her stepmom, or her dad.

Speaking of…

“Where’re yerh pehrehnts?” You manage through your pulled-apart mouth, entertaining the teen enough to garner a tiny smile, yet she begets no response to your inquiry.

Adam answers your question for her, since she’s so preoccupied with your face. “Delia and Charles both had work today, so they should be home _aaaany_ minute now,” the ghost stares at where a watch would be, if he had one.

Everyone pauses to listen for cars pulling up to the house, but hear nothing, and the room collectively shrugs. 

Barbara and Beej laugh at Lydia’s ongoing mission to gently rearrange your face; the blonde pulls the girl’s hands away from your now thoroughly smushed-with mug, while Beej pulls you into a nice and snug hug.

“Y’know you can talk to us about _anything,_ right?” Zir hair changes to a slightly-less-dark purple as zie continues, “I mean, B-Town and A-Dog are _ghosts,_ Scarecrow is a gothy teen that knows _waaaay_ more about most subjects than we all think she should, and I am **literally** a demon,” Beej pauses for a second. “Well, a gothy, deadborn, demon, _ghost_ in fact, so I tick _all_ the boxes _and_ more.”

You take a steadying breath, smiling a tiny bit when your partner clasps your arm encouragingly.

“I just…okay, so you know how sometimes you want to say something, but you _literally can’t?_ Like, it feels like there’s a blockage somewhere between your mind and your mouth? Or, your throat just won’t kick into gear because it’s stuck midway between _park_ and _drive?”_ Your hands fly around, miming your words like a game of charades. Barbara and Beej nod their heads reverently, while Lydia wipes her wet cheeks off on a hand-towel Adam brought her from the kitchen seconds ago; the semi-recently deceased pausing in midair beside the bed.

“You feel like that _too?”_ Adam’s glasses slide down his nose, and Barbara distractedly pushes them back up while keeping an eye on you. “But–but I though it was just an…well, an _Adam_ thing.”

Barbara sits up while still lying on your legs, breaking the laws of physics because she’s _Barbara._ “What?! Shoot, I thought that was just a _me_ thing too! Dang, we _really_ need to talk about our own mental stuff more often.”

Lydia raises her hand, gaining everyone’s attention to look at her phone. “I get like that too, sometimes,” it reads in bold text; eternally set to darkmode.

“Thanks for telling me, y’all; I really appreciate it,” you sappily grin, gaze bouncing around the room and landing on each person at least once. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone in the world with these kinds of things, _especially_ when I live alone.”

The silence after your statement is slightly awkward, as if someone wants to refute the last part of it, but they aren’t sure how to go about doing so, since…well, it’s _true._

“Sooo, where did ‘neutral’ go?” Beej asks, having latched onto the analogy like zie physically has to _you._ You couldn’t escape even if you _tried—_ not that you _would,_ even _if_ you could.

“Hm, I think it fell off the Prindle about fifteen years back.” Beej perks up when your eyes begin sweeping the floor for your personal water canteen, so zie conjures a sports drink into your lap; opening the electrolyte-filled bottle with a spare set of hands zie grew _specifically_ for that reason.

“The… _what?_ ” Adam tilts his head, looking ever so _very_ confused as he climbs back into place on the stripy bed and into his wife’s awaiting arms.

You sip the gatorade Beej brought into existence for you—and thank zem for it, smiling at the drink being your favorite flavored-color—looking up at their black and white ceiling while gathering your thoughts. “Y’know, the gearshift on a car? Some only have the first letter of each word, so it spells out P-R-N-D, and from there, to make it easily pronounceable, you just add an I and L-E to make it Prindle!”

“ _Fascinating…_ ” Adam pats out a rhythm on the cushy comforter of Beej’s bed, pulls his phone out, and starts typing.

You wiggle until your legs are no longer caught underneath the Maitlands, folding the chilled limbs beneath yourself to warm them up. “Are you writing down the definition of ‘prindle’ into the notes app of your phone?” You ask, excited at the prospect, but _also_ to sneakily sway the subject away from yourself.

Barbara nods peppily. “Yep, he does this all the time; says it’s so he never has to look it up again, in case he doesn’t have any internet connection,” she shifts, resting her head on Adam’s calf. “ _I_ think it’s ‘cause he loves hoarding funfacts and things, kinda like a fearsome, nerdy dragon!” She musses up her husband’s hair, which he leans into while still enscribing up a storm.

“Pillbug, are you jus’ trying to get us talking about something besides you and your mental health, or are you really _this_ interested by Adam here semi-obsessively writing things down?” Beej gives you a draconian look, the slightest bit of apple-green coming back to splatter their cowlicks.

“What? I can have dual motives, it’s _definitely_ legal.” You pretend to snootily look away, but smush yourself further into their hold.

“ _Honeybun…_ ”

Ooh, zie’s bringing out the _big guns._

You frown, tilting your head back to look at your significan other’s hard expression. “Why’re you being so _stern_ right now anyways?”

Beej stills. “Because if I wasn’t, I’d be crying my eyes out.”

“Oh. Um…” You trail off, not sure what to say in response to that.

Beej takes a shuddering breath, zir eyes becoming glassy and wet. “We didn’t establish a safe enough environment that let you feel like you could confide your pain, so you’ve been suffering _all by your lonesome and—_ anybody got a hanky, cause this sexy fire hydrant is about to leak water everywhere and make a complete _mess_ of zemself,” zir voice cracks near the middle, wobbling miserably at the end as zie chokes up; bright plum-colored droplets rolling down zir visage and leaving behind dark splotches on zir borrowed hoodie.

“No, hey, Beej, listen,” you twist around to hold their downcast face in your hands, “It’s not a _you_ thing that I didn’t tell you, it’s a _me_ thing. Because of trauma, and abuse, and all that _‘good’_ stuff,” you air-quote, wiping away the shiny tears slowly dripping across your deadmate’s chops. “I _promise_ the next time I‘m in a funk I’ll call or text one of y’all, and maybe we can hangout, if I’m feeling up for it,” you state firmly, intent gaze locked on a curled strand of hair dangling against zir forehead.

Beej sniffles with the might of a freight train, wiping zir nose along zir sleeve and wrist. Everyone tries to hide a grimace, but all fail miserably. “ _Pinky_ promise?” Zie holds out zir hand—serendipitously _not_ the mucus covered one— zir little finger extended.

You interlock your pinkies with high esteem, grinning from ear to ear at zir adorable thought process. “I _swear._ ”

Your green-and-pink-bespotted demon lets out a maniacal laugh, zir head thrown back in utter glee. “NO TAKE-BACKSIES!”

While admiring the truly enchanting tear-stained and gorgeous look your deadmate has going on, you feel a tug on your clothes, and look behind yourself to see that your favorite goth teen is the sad-looking culprit.

“You’re spending the night, right?” Lydia pleads, her eyes wide and teary, bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

“Uhh…I mean, if your parents are okay with it, sure?” You acquiesce, feeling it in your gut that they _all_ will keep asking if you say no, on account of _everyone_ currently making puppy-eyes at you.

It’s at that exact moment Barbara uses a poltergeist trick to pull the door open from the bed, and the entire room’s occupants witness Delia and Charles tumble onto the floor from where they were eavesdropping on the five of you.

“… _How long were you there?_ ” You squeak out, covering your reddening face in embarrassment.

The eldest adults help each other up from the polished floor, dusting their partner off. “Ah, not to worry; just the last minute or so, give or take,” Charles coughs stiffly; the businessman’s face flushed red.

Delia straightens her pantsuit, then throws her arms out wide with a blindingly bright beam of a smile. “Of _course_ our dear friend can stay the night! Why, sending them back in _this weather_ would be tantamount to tortu-ray!”

At that, everyone looks out the window to see snow piling at _least_ three-feet high in the streets, and turn back to see Mrs. Deetz _still_ holding her arms up. Charles lightly leavers them back down, pressing a kiss to her cheek with a look of _pure_ admiration. “My _god_ woman, your vast intellect is so _sexy…_ ”

“Oh, _Charles…_ ” Delia places a hand on her husband’s chest, the two of them leaning into a romantic embrace.

“Hey, uh, earth to dad and stepmom; your _offspring_ are still here?” Lydia sasses, surreptitiously wiping away the remnants of her older, more dead-looking sibling’s emotional upheaval. Beej kisses her head in thanks, then noogies her for good measure, and to keep up appearances in front of their parents.

The married Deetz's jerk back from each other with embarrassed smiles, but hold hands to keep contact. The casual way they show their love makes you feel all warm and fluffy inside.

“Ah, but yes, friend, do you need anything for this…sleepover? _Delia, dear, is that the correct term? Yes? Alright, thank you my love,_ “ the father of two kisses his wife adorably, making Lydia cover her eyes and groan loudly in mock annoyance. Beej copies her for fun, making literal noises of the damned as a scare tactic. It doesn’t work, as the adultier Deetz’s seem to be used to the hellish sound.

“Nah, I’m okay, thank you though, Mr. Deetz,” you reply with a fatigued grin.

The brunet simply heaves a put-upon sigh, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “You can just call me Charles, you know.”

Your grin turns fox-like as you give a two finger salute. “Okie-dokie, Mr. Charles!”

Mr. Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. “You all are going to send me to an early grave…” He chuckles good-naturedly while everyone else snickers at his expense.

Delia decides that now is as a good a time as any to give a twirl and strike an action movie pose. “Well if everything is settled, then we shall take our leave! I must rise with the sun, even if the blessed light shall be hidden behind dark, grey, clouds!” Everyone gives polite applause to her theatrics, making the redhead titter and bow appreciatively. She rushes out the door, tossing back a joyous _”Sleep well!”_ on her way out.

Charles Deetz lags a moment behind his wife. Grasping the door-handle, he glances back at the bed with a calculating gaze. “With the oncoming snow-in, everyone will want hot chocolate tomorrow, I take it?” His thoughtful question incites more than one excited cheer, and at least two _over_ -excited screams. You do a happy little shimmy, but freeze when the bed creaks ominously, your heart skipping a beat. Beej whacks the bed frame, ceasing its menacing cries in their tracks. No one pays this any attention.

Charles nods, and while shutting the door, he lands the final blow. “Goodnight, then, _children._ ” His booming laughter can be heard as he trapezes down the hall, fit to hibernate ‘til the morn.

You, Barbara, and Adam laugh in confusion, while Lydia and Beej grumble about how they _“Aren’t kids anymore, **dad.** ”_

Feeling a bit perplexed after having been referred to in such a familial manner, you clear your throat—successfully _avoiding_ choking, this time—and suggest an idea you’ve been ruminating on for the better part of the last five minutes. “If it’s alright with Beej, I wouldn’t mind having an _actual_ sleepover. Like, since we all napped here, we could just keep it going,” you wave your off-hand in a circle, seeing your signif nod zir head fervently in your peripheral.

“Hell yeah!! Bugs Bunny, Emo Philips, and Captain Atom, go get yer jammies on: We’re gonna have a sleeping party!!!” Beej cajoles, fist-pumping and making _”Hooh-hooh-hooh!”_ sounds like a college fraternity-house member.

“It’s called a _sleepover,_ Bumble Beej,” Lydia crawls off their bed, almost falling to the floor when her legs give out on her, but catching herself with the mattress in the nick of time. “Ugh, I _hate_ when that happens,” she shakes her legs, probably to rid them of the pin-and-needles-like sensation from laying on them for an indiscernible number of hours.

At that observance, you wonder—not for the first time this week—where your watch went, then recall that the strap broke and you haven’t remembered to get a new one. Ah, _c’est la vie:_ such is life.

Beej flip-flops a hand, cheshire-cat grin making it known/obvious that zie're just messing with zir sister for shits and giggles. “Yeah, that’s what I said: A sleeping party,” zie supernaturally extends an arm, gleefully ruffling up zir little sister’s hair, much to her disgruntlement and ire.

Lydia retaliates by flinging curse words at them in multiple languages, including at least one spoken by the dead, taught to her by the Beeple zemself. You offer to try and fix up her mussed mane for her, but the goth girl you’ve come to know and cherish just smirks kindly at you, offhandedly mentioning that it’s a _“Goth Sibling Thing,”_ and she’ll _”Get Beetleleetle to detangle it in the morning,”_ while stomping feeling back into her feet.

It looks and _sounds_ painful, and you internally cringe at the thought that her parents can most likely hear her. Beej must sense your mounting discomfort, for zie grips you tightly in zir embrace, resting zir chin atop your head when you relax in zir soothing hold.

You blearily notice Barbara have an epiphany, relay it to her husband, who then informs Lydia, whomst nods in acquiescence, and is levitated off her feet with a bright grin and double thumbs-up.

The two ghosts and one breather leave to put on their pajamas—and use the facilities, in the latter’s case. You wonder how Adam and Barbara can change clothes while being…well, _ghosts,_ but decide not to question it. At least, not _aloud._ You can ruminate on it the next time you have a sleepless night and decide to text Beej until the sun rises—or until you pass out, whichever comes first.

In the meantime, the demon who eats lemons for funsies summons a clone of zemself—who looks slightly shorter than zem and has yellow eyes, which is…odd, to say the least—to rifle through zir drawers in a quest to find appropriate sleeping attire for you. Beej obviously just doesn’t want to do it zemself, but also trusts zir clone to do as great a job as zemself at choosing sleepwear for you. Exhibit A: Zie clutches you tighter, and pats your chest, drumming a song born out of spontaneity.

After tossing about a _huge_ amount of t-shirts with comedic sayings printed on them such as _”I Eateded The Cookie When No One Else Would”,_ a hat that reads _”Women Fear Me, Fish Want Me”,_ and a bucket of empty barbecue sauce packets, the clone finally uncovers an utterly _adorable_ kigurumi. They hold it out, excitedly mouthing _”For you!”_ while bouncing up and down like a ferret that drank too much caffeine.

It’s the _exact_ one you were gazing longingly at on the internet while sighing in despair at the price tag last month. Beej must’ve seen you doing that at some point and sneakily got it for you. _Why the hell is zie so nice???_

You twist around to stare at zem in distressed amazement, not saying anything at all because you’re so overwhelmed at zir thoughtfulness you _literally_ don’t know what to say.

“…Happy early holiday present?” Beej’s caught-in-the-act grin wobbles as zie tries not to laugh, your reaction/expression seeming to be _hilarious_ to zem, if their half-snorts are any indication.

You roll your eyes lovingly, hugging Beej’s clone and giving them a kiss on the cheek. They swoon, their hair bright pink, and blush, covering their face while continuing to hold out the gift. You laugh, accepting the kigu with another grin. The adorable clone gives a tiny, shy wave, and disappears in a poof of smoke.

After laying another kiss on the original deadborn—who _also_ swoons adorably—you spring out of zir bed to quickly change into your new favorite pajamas, Voguing when Beej lets out a quiet wolf-whistle of appreciation.

It’s when you’re folded forwards in a theatrical bow that Barbara, Lydia, and Adam make their return, all dressed and ready for sleeping. As the three climb onto one-half of the Alaskan Family sized mattress you begin striking poses, making them laugh and chuckle in delight at your matching silly faces.

Beej pouts, waiting for you to finish, but with hardly an end to your goofiness in sight, gets fed up. Smoothly rolling from atop the blankets, zie picks you up from under your arms like a misbehaving cat, confusing you enough for zem to climb back into bed and tuck you in zir arms sans any fussing on your part—not that you _would_ fuss at being cuddled, but…it’s the thought that counts? Zir self-satisfied purring certainly cements the fact that _Beej_ is the more cat-like one in the relationship.

The Maitland-Deetz and you all say your goodnights, an over-excited _”Sleep well!”_ originating from Adam litters soft giggling ‘round the room. The newlydeads and their adoptive daughter easily conk out in mere _seconds._ It’s all quite impressive, and you are _very_ envious of their magical-falling-asleep-abilities. 

_…God/Satan you wish that were you._

Many minutes pass. You lie in your love’s arms, bone-weary, yet awake. It seems like another night where, even though you’re so _tired,_ you can’t seem to shut your mind off. It’s not like any pertinent thoughts are keeping you up, it just feels like…something’s _missing._

“What’s wrong, cuddlebug?” Beej asks quietly—zir volume lower than you would think zir voice could even _go_ —to keep from waking up the Maitlands and Lydia, all of whom are cutesily snuggled together under one of your demon’s ultra-soft, oversized throw blankets.

You squirm in place, trying to think of what‘s barely _off_ about zir bedroom, mentally comparing it to your own. “I dunno, I just can’t put my finger on it…”

Even in the dark of nighttime, you can see the _exact_ moment an idea comes to Beej’s mind, zir hair brightening up in excitement.

Zie gives you the most warm and gentle smile you’ve seen from zem—causing your heart to skip a beat for the second time that evening, the blood-pumping muscle melting in your chest like chocolate under a sunlamp, all gooey and messy. 

With a simple gesture from your deadmate, the ceiling and walls _erupt_ into a cascade of stars and celestial bodies; a myriad of constellations floating amid a sea of inky space giving off a soft glow. Your awe-filled eyes reflect the scenery, making Beej grin at having figured out what was missing.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” Beej strokes your back, zir words rumbling in zir chest with a purr as zie pulls you snug up to zem. You sigh contentedly, resting your head in the crook of zir neck with a lackadaisical smile.

The final thought you have, as you drift off to dreamland, surrounded by the ones you love and _know_ love you, is perhaps the most comforting thought you would ever have in your entire life.

_”I’m home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading this, i truly appreciate all your kind kudos and for sticking around for my self-indulgent writings!! hopefully it helped anyone else that’s feeling this way 💖
> 
> reach out to your loved ones if u can, maybe just to say “hi!” or “how’s it going?” cause in these trying times, we _all_ need all the support we can get! 🌟🤟🏼💖


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